


The Night Kitchen

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [10]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cal and seven-year-old Sophia meet in the kitchen one night for snacks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

It was about 2AM and Cal was wide awake. Not for the usual reason he might be wide awake at 2AM—although Gillian was asleep in his bed upstairs, she was ‘indisposed’ at the moment, as she delicately put it. Such indispositions were becoming less and less frequent, though frankly he was surprised they were still occurring at all, with the twins all of four years old. But according to the doctor it was within the bounds of normality, and possibly attributable to the fact that she’d had a child so early in life.

But at any rate, she was asleep upstairs, and Cal was awake downstairs, poking around in the kitchen for a snack and thinking about one of his patients. He was used to dealing with the worst; adults and especially children who had come to the Valley from horrific situations—those cases were how he had made his reputation after all, how they _all_ had. But he had never made the mistake of thinking _everyone_ had those kinds of problems.

In Eastport, however, with just a tiny fraction of the Valley’s population and no history of providing asylum to the troubled—well, it _did_ seem like everyone had their own set of traumatic events from the past. Usually Cal had no trouble maintaining his clinical detachment—any of his spouses could confirm that—but after a while even _he_ began to be uncomfortable running into his patients at church or the post office or the diner, greeting each other cheerfully while trying _not_ to think about the painful secret they’d just discussed.

It didn’t help that Gillian had started reading these silly mysteries where half the time, it seemed, the murder victim was the small-town psychologist who had learned one secret too many about his neighbors. Clearly she left them lying around the house just so she could watch him sneer as he paged through them.

Cal had just started to make himself a peanut butter sandwich when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. “Got it, thanks,” he said absently, thinking it was a servant hovering nearby.

“Daddy!” a small voice replied, which didn’t _exactly_ startle him. Not really.

Cal turned to see a little girl in a pale nightgown emerge from the shadows. “What are you doin’ up, darlin’?”

“I had a bad dream,” Sophia informed him, clutching her stuffed turtle to her tightly.

“Oh yeah?” He gestured for her to come closer and she padded barefoot across the tile floor, grabbing onto his leg as soon as she got close enough. “So you had a bad dream, and then you decided to wander about in a dark house in the middle of the night?”

Sophia nodded solemnly. It took adults a while to get used to Cal’s tone, which tended to be bone-dry and somewhat cold. Children, however, were remarkably adept at picking up the subtle inflections of affection in it— _his_ children were, at least.

“What are you doing, havin’ nightmares anyway?” he continued, assembling his sandwich. “Isn’t your dreamcatcher working?” Cal had picked up the complicated hoop-and-feather decorations on a trip to North America several years ago—they were, to put it scientifically, complete hooey, but they seemed to work well psychologically on the younger children when they reached that ‘monster under the bed’ phase.

“Well, it was only a _little_ bit bad,” Sophia assessed.

“Hmm. Up you go,” he told her, lifting the girl onto the counter. Gillian would’ve had a fit to see him doing it, but hey, he wasn’t decrepit and weak _quite_ yet. “There’s my little angel. You want summin’ to eat? Yeah? Alright, stay put.” People were often surprised when Cal showed affection to his children, because he seemed so reserved normally, he guessed—well, that and he tended not to care what most people thought of him, so he’d ticked them off long before they saw him with his kids. Not that the surprise bothered him, of course.

He was definitely not _mushy_ over the children, though—from his point of view, his eldest daughter Emily _was_ just about as perfect as a human being possibly could be; and if, as his faithful spouses assured him, there really was a Heaven, then objectively speaking it would have to be filled with angelic messengers identical in appearance to Sophia. Golden skin, dark curls, cherry-red pout—in about ten years she would probably go from angelic to h—l-raiser, though, if she’d inherited any of her mother’s feisty personality. Right now she seemed fairly laidback for a seven-year-old, and when she was with Eli it wasn’t too hard to see the physical resemblance as well. Not that this was ever discussed, of course, even in a family as blunt as theirs—some lines just weren’t to be crossed. If only they could convince the well-meaning townspeople of this taboo.

“How about some applesauce, then?” Cal decided, pulling the jar from the fridge. That was fruit and thus healthy. He spooned a bit into a bowl and handed it to Sophia, then leaned against the counter beside her to eat his own snack. “Well, what was this dream about?”

“The lawn mower,” the girl confessed.

“Ah.” Grass in the Valley did not grow out of turn, of course, but grass in Eastport needed to be trimmed—with a large, loud, motorized vehicle wielding whirling blades. Not that the children would ever be hurt by it, but it had made a profound impression on Sophia the first time she saw it in action.

Still, Cal didn’t feel this was indicative of some larger psychological issue with the girl, so he let it drop. “So, d’you like it here?” he queried casually. “You like the house? The town?” Sophia nodded readily. “You like your little Scout troop? They nice girls?” Wanting to integrate themselves into the Eastport community, the Darkwood clans had looked for wholesome activities to involve their children in, and the local Girl Scout group had seemed like a good start. Of course, now it was nearly _half_ Darkwood girls, but the parents who got generous donations of both money and time out of it didn’t seem to be complaining. Sadly, the boys didn’t have an equivalent activity, as investigation had shown that the Boy Scouts might not be so amenable to their ‘alternative’ lifestyles. “You made any American friends yet?”

“There’s this girl named Hannah, and she’s really nice,” Sophia reported thoughtfully. “And, she has two mommies, just like I do! But no daddy at all.”

“None at all? Hmm, personally I think the daddy’s the best part,” Cal commented. “What’d she say when you told her you had two of each?”

“She said that was cool,” the girl replied, sounding far too grown up for a moment.

Still, Cal felt the lead was promising. Children, especially younger ones, could make friends so easily, despite cultural barriers—and that was just what they were hoping for in this new home. “You want to invite her over to play sometime?” Cal offered

Sophia’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

“Now don’t get too excited,” he cautioned, perhaps too late. “I’ll talk to your mum, though.”

“Thanks, Daddy!”

They ate in silence for a moment, Cal finishing his sandwich while Sophia dawdled over her applesauce. “So what’s her name again? ‘Anner?” he prompted.

“Hannah,” Sophia corrected.

“That’s what I said, ‘Anner,” he told her, making his accent even more pronounced.

Sophia giggled. “Hhhannah,” she repeated, emphasizing the ‘h’ sound.

“Are you not hearing me properly?” Cal questioned, lifting her down from the counter. “That’s exactly what I said. ‘Anner.” He set their dirty dishes in the sink and took the girl’s hand to lead her back to bed. “You’re Sophier, and you’ve got sisters named Louiser, Julier, Anner—“ Sophia continued to giggle. “Oh, I think I understand your confusion,” Cal went on. “See, your friend is ‘Anner, and your sister’s name is Anner. Hear the difference? No? It’s really quite distinct…”


End file.
